


The Unrests

by X_The_Unicorn



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Gen, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, VERY subtle pov changes, c!dream i would like to punt you straight to the moon, ghostinnit, kind of? i mean they talk, yep he DEAD hahahahaha /j
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_The_Unicorn/pseuds/X_The_Unicorn
Summary: The child looks skinnier than the average child. He is tall and lanky, even though he looks small at the moment, curling desperately into himself. A mop of blonde hair sits on top of his head. His red and white (grey?) shirt is torn, and he spots no shoes on him. The ball of child is trembling minutely, hiding his face.Something about this child makes Wilbur uneasy. He looks way too familiar.(Spoilers from Tommy's March 1st stream)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, they're brothers <3
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	The Unrests

**Author's Note:**

> DU DU DU DU 
> 
> I speedran this but this still ended up taking like most of the day to write. I tried a more introspective type of writing style (not that I have a fixed style goddammit), so it might seem a bit confusing while reading and I apologise for that. There will be notes at the end of the fic to hopefully clear things up.
> 
> Enjoy!

Admittedly, Wilbur has thought of reunion more than once.

Through his foggy (?) memories, he has recalled the way Phil looked at his translucent self, concern filling his eyes along with something else he couldn’t decipher. (It’s pain, his mind suggested, but Wilbur dismissed it within a flash.)

He had wanted himself to be revived, he voiced it during the final war, where he saw the town he hand built got destroyed ruthlessly by TNT and withers. He imagines his cold body being warm again, imagine the touches of his father and his baby brother. He also imagines the voice in his head, driving him to destroy everything and everyone he had ever owned and loved. Definitely not the type of reunion he wants.

Have some blue, he thinks, calm yourself.

The ghostly plane he resides in is peaceful. There is no more violence, no more blood. No more sadness. He placed a tentative hand on Friend’s wool, the softness soothing his mind. A lazy smile appears on his face. Just another ordinary day, thinking about nothing in specific.

He has no idea why he is a ghost. 

(Did you really forget, Wil, or did you just not want to remember?)

The blue stains his hands as he pulls in a shuddering breath, not that he needs the oxygen anyway. Is there even any oxygen inside here?

Whatever. It’s not important.

Have some more blue, please.

  
  


The air is still, until it is not anymore.

This is Wilbur’s own ghostly plane, of course he would be the first one to sense any abnormality. Friend, on the other hand, only flaps its ears once when Wilbur perks up at the disturbance in the atmosphere. Someone else is here.

Wilbur frowns. The last time he remembers (not that he ever remembered much), he was the only ghost from the server. Sure enough, he has a ram friend who visits him once in a while, but even he is unable to enter this place he is currently in. 

(He decided to stay dead. He has more lives left. There are still connections between him and the living plane, unlike him.)

(Gone for good.)

Wilbur shakes his head, concentrating on the disturbance. It ripples through his mind like a pebble landing on a still water puddle. He gives Friend’s head a pat and floats up, determined to locate its source.

He closes his eyes and focuses.

This is his own plane. If he try hard enough, he can be aware of anything that is happening. Bees buzzing within a bush of colourful flowers. A brown horse neighing for its child. An enderman vwooping out of existence in a cave somewhere below where he is floating. Bright orange lava popping. A child.

A… child?

Wilbur frowns. It seems like he has found the intruder. At least it isn’t someone malicious.

The child looks skinnier than the average child. He is tall and lanky, even though he looks small at the moment, curling desperately into himself. A mop of blonde hair sits on top of his head. His red and white (grey?) shirt is torn, and he spots no shoes on him. The ball of child is trembling minutely, hiding his face.

Something about this child makes Wilbur uneasy. He looks way too familiar.

(Loud. Boisterous. A bit annoying. Loyal. Great follower. Brave.)

(Hurt. Timid. Sad. Fragile.)

(His little brother.)

His little brother?

“TOMMY!”

  
  


It’s all so incredibly cold.

Tommy doesn’t even need to look at his torso to know that he is translucent. His chest is still, breathing no longer a necessity. It takes a few more moments for him to realise that the silence around him is because he can’t hear the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears anymore.

He has no idea where he is. The carpet of grass seems familiar enough under his bum. He slowly runs a hand through it. The usual gentle breeze seems a lot colder than usual, though Tommy thinks it might have something to do with the fact that he’s dead.

He thinks about Ghostbur.

Ghostbur said that he can only remember good memories. Ghostbur is innocent and carefree. Ghostbur is happy.

Tommy feels betrayed. He has died, hasn’t he? Why haven’t he forgotten everything he went through in flesh and blood? The wars, the exile, the prison, he remembers everything clearer than ever.

He even remembers Dream’s bloodied fist as it landed on his face, his half cracked porcelain mask, his exposed eye rabid and blood shot, his deranged grin and manic cackles. 

He doesn’t remember starting to cry, but something keeps leaking out of his eyes. A translucent hand raises to wipe them, coming off blue.

He can really use some of Ghostbur’s blue here.

The wind has picked up speed, practically howling in his ears. His hands move automatically to his ears, the sound of static growing in volume. His throat hurts, he might be screaming, but he is not sure. A pair of equally cold hands grab his wrists, forcing him to open his eyes. When has he closed them, again?

He sucks in a huge lungful of air, something he didn’t know he can still do. The first thing he sees is yellow.

He carefully lifts his head.

“Ghostbur?”

  
  
  


Wilbur can barely recognise the child in front of him.

The last time he sees him, the younger looked battered, yet a determined look fills his eyes, making him look very much alive. The boy, the child in front of him now, is anything but alive. He looks younger than Wilbur remembers. His eyes are unseeing, thick streams of blue escaping them. He is gasping for air (despite not needing them), desperate sobs escaping his lips.

“Tommy!” He tries to call for the child’s attention. Slowly, the child’s eyes come back to focus. 

“G-ghostbur?” The child’s lips move, yet no sound escape. 

“That’s me.” Wilbur tries to give a reassuring smile, though he is sure it ends up all wobbly. “It’s okay, you’re safe here.”

“Your voice… isn’t all echoey anymore.”

Ghostbur chuckles. It’s unbelievable how out of everything, it’s his voice that the child notices first. “That’s right. Because I’m home. You’re home, Tommy.”

“Where…?” The child tries to talk louder, but ends up coughing instead. Wilbur quickly summons a water bottle and presses it to his mouth. The child gulps the water down, so fast that Wilbur wonders how he doesn’t choke.

(Not needing to breathe helps a lot.)

After he is done, Tommy calms down significantly. He touches his damp cheek, wincing when it comes off wet and blue. Ghostbur reaches in his pocket to retrieve some blue, which Tommy accepts, watching idly as the blue colour slowly swivels into the transparent rock, staining it a deep royal blue. He feels a weight in his chest lift.

Huh. This has never happened when he was alive. He guesses that blue only works on ghosts.

Wilbur on the other hand watches the child carefully. There are a million questions in his mind, yet nothing comes out of his mouth. He figures that he shouldn’t pressure the child.

“So I’m dead.” The child deadpans all of a sudden. 

“I guess you are.”

“I got beat to death by Dream.”

“Your friend?” (His enemy. His manipulator. His abuser.)

“Maybe. He’s very annoying in prison.”

“Prison?”

The child sighs. “There’s quite a lot that you’ve missed, big man.”

“I… haven’t been to the living plane for a lot these days.”

“So this is what you call, the ghost plane?” The child asks, of which Wilbur nods in agreement. “Somewhere the unrest goes to rest…” The child mumbles.

The unrest, indeed. He has never known rest, alive or dead.

(Not all is lost, his mind whispered. Wilbur dismisses it with practiced ease.)

Somewhere in between spaced out conversations, the sky dims and the stars appear above his head. Wilbur starts a fire with some sticks and a flint and steel. He personally doesn’t need it, but he figures that the child might.

And he is right. The child basically leans into the warmth, not used to the cold yet. He has tried to approach the child, yet the child flinches every time Wilbur tries to touch him. Wilbur wonders what in the world happened to the child. 

(You play a part in it.)

(Shut up.)

“Why can’t I forget?” The child mutters, leading Wilbur to turn to him. The child (Tommy, Tommy, your little brother) is staring at the fire, the orange glow giving his pale grey skin a warm glow, an illusion that blood still flows in his veins. 

“Forget what?” (Stop pretending.)

“Everything that happened.”

“Everything?” (You know what is everything.)

For the first time since he finds the chi- Tommy, the boy’s eyes flare up in emotion. Wilbur recognises the anger in it.

“It’s unfair! Why do you get to forget everything? Why do you get to be free while I struggle with my mind, my past, everything I’ve experienced?” He spits at Wilbur, whose first instinct is to reach into his pocket for blue.

(Blue doesn’t help with anger, and he knows it.)

(Plus, the child’s emotion isn’t something that can be soothed by blue.)

“You hurt me, and you forgot.”

(I didn’t.)

“Dream hurt me, and you didn’t know.”

(I knew.)

“Tubbo left me, and you didn’t say a thing.”

(I wish I said something.)

“Did you save the world or something in your past life?”

(No, but I did ruin one.)

“Why are you so lucky?”

(Who says I am?)

“WHY DO YOU GET TO FORGET?” The child howls, as rain starts to pour down from the sky. The fire extinguishes quickly. Wilbur’s skin prickles with the water, as he quickly stands up to build a shelter over both of them.

Tommy seems to realise what is happening, and quickly shuts up and helps Ghostbur out. He is quite surprised how fast Ghostbur reacts this time round. The rainwater soaks into his hair quickly, making his head feel as heavy as his heart. It takes a few minutes for him to realise that he isn’t hurt by rainwater.

Huh. Maybe each ghost is different. 

A few panic-filled minutes later, both of them are sitting under a temporary shelter built out of wooden planks. The fire has been relighted. Tommy stretches his hands out to feel the warmth. His wet clothes are drying rapidly. Ghostbur refuses to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Tommy says quietly, voice resigned. 

“It’s okay.” Wilbur sounds defeated. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember.”

(Stop pretending.)

“A lot of stuff has happened after you… left.” Tommy starts, fidgeting with his hands. “Dream got thrown in prison.”

“There’s a prison?” Ghostbur raises his eyebrows. Tommy sighs.

“But before that!” Tommy suddenly brightens, startling Ghostbur. “I got my discs back!”

“Did you?” Wilbur smiles as the child, Tommy, starts bouncing up and down in his sitting position. “It was pretty epic! I thought Tubbo and I are going to die, but Punz and a lot of people showed up and threw Dream in the prison!”

The child’s smile doesn’t last long. 

“Wait- Tubbo doesn’t know I’m dead!”

“Tommy-”

“Wi-Ghostbur I gotta go back and find him! I gotta ask him to hold a memorial for me, you know? Even though no one really misses me and stuff.”

Wilbur feels… conflicted about the child’s reaction. He also remembers a very important part of being a ghost.

“Tommy if they hold a memorial for you, you won’t be able to enter the living plane again!” He reminds the child, seeing him freeze in place for a split second.

“What?” It’s merely a whisper, but the noise still makes Wilbur’s heart throb.

“The dictator-” Wilbur winces at the way his voice cracks. “The dictator had a funeral. He’s gone for good. Even after all the things he did to L’Manberg-”

Wilbur snaps his mouth shut.

(You can’t keep this to yourself anymore. The truth reveals itself eventually.)

(You are a coward for not wanting to face the reality.)

(Did you really forget, or you just don’t want to remember?)

(Wilbur Soot, founder and destroyer of L’Manberg?)

“Ahem, anyways,” Wilbur clears his throat, but he knows that Tommy has caught him. “I’d recommend not going back there, for now. Ghosts exist for a reason.”

If he could still sweat, Wilbur would be sweating a bucket right now.

“Ghostbur…” (It’s Wilbur! Wilbur!) The child starts cautiously. “I just want to see people who care about me, even if it’s for the very last time. There’s nothing there that I can’t hold on anymore. I have everything I wanted. I got my discs and my best friend back.” 

“Then you shouldn’t be here, in my ghostly plane!” Ghostbur exclaims. “I was here because there is something I haven’t finished yet. Unrest, you know the deal.”

“L’Manberg, your unfinished symphony.” The child suddenly snarls, “forever unfinished. Blew up into bits. Can you remember? Or did you forget? Are you going to give me blue again? I don’t need those. I don’t even know why I am here. Just, go away.”

“There’s a reason ghosts are also known as unrest.”

Tommy nearly jumps at the coldness of Ghostbur’s voice. He had never heard Ghostbur sound like this before, even right after the war with Manberg, when his voice was stuck raspy with tears for a long time.

“Well, you seem very much rested.” Tommy bites, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

“Tommy, look at me.”

Tommy turns to Ghostbur, ready to scream in his face, until he really looks at him.

Did he ever look Ghostbur in the eyes before? He has always assumed that ghosts don’t like eye contact.

However, in all his translucent glory, Ghostbur looks even more alive than he had ever been since Pogtopia. Tommy has no idea how a pair of eyes can hold so much emotions. Instead of the usual child-like naivety, Tommy sees pain. Regret. Remorse. And most importantly, warmth.

“Gho-- Wilby?” Tommy squeaks.

“Yours truly.” Wilbur confirms with a small smile. His body seems less translucent.

“You never forgot.” Tommy whispers, voice thick with tears.

“Never once.” 

(You are doing the right thing.)

  
  
  


Distance is an abstract thing. Two points can seem so close yet so far. 

At a place that seems close and far away at once, a friend falls to their knees, hides their face in their hands and bawls. Another friend turns away from the prison, face dark with anger and regret. A caregiver sits alone in the dark, thinking about what they should have done.

A foe dances and celebrates, loudly cheering in a room full of other foes. An enemy paces around the town, conflicted about what they are supposed to feel. A villain leans against an obsidian wall, a small chuckle escaping their lips.

At another place that seems far away but very close, two brothers hug and cry. One can’t stop whispering apologies into the ears of another, while the other can't stop clinging to the person they thought they lost forever.

The puzzle remains incomplete, the symphony remains unfinished.

The unrests stay unrested.

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S FOOT NOTE TIME!!!
> 
> Alright so. In the tags I mentioned subtle switching of povs, but I hope it's obvious just enough to make a difference. In Tommy's pov, he calls Wilbur Ghostbur. In Wilbur's pov, he calls Tommy "the child". Both povs merge to the very end of the fic, right before the last section, where Tommy is just Tommy and Wilbur is just Wilbur.
> 
> The brackets contain Wilbur's real thoughts- his guilty conscience telling him to stop pretending that he forgot everything. Yes, my headcanon is that Wilbur remembers everything as a ghost, he just chooses to pretend that he forgot the sad memories as a trauma response.
> 
> Also at the final section of the fic, some unnamed characters are mentioned. As I slowly write this, more people started doing their lore (for example BBH and Puffy's streams), so I become more and more flustered as I debate whether to add them to the fic ><
> 
> This took SO LONG to write oh my gosh the writer's block is REAL *screams into void* I started to write at about 10am my time, and I only finished this at 4pm. (And yes, the stream happened at 4am for me and I didn't catch it. Pain.) It's so hard to write and/or stick with one writing style these days.
> 
> By the way, I don't believe that c!Tommy's like permanently dead! His death message flashed and disappeared like that one lore stream Ranboo did on another server. Ranboo was either hallucinating or having a nightmare, and he didn't lose a life after that. But people have already did canon lore on c!Tommy's death so he might really be gone, for good. Maybe Schlatt's book of revival is going to have its grand appearance... alongside with Foolish? 
> 
> Also, QUACKITY LORE. He's been teasing it for SO SO LONG and I seriously can't wait for it!!!!!!!! And there's Tale From the SMP tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!! WHY ARE SO MANY THINGS GOING ON AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> Okay enough ranting. Thank you so much for reading and have a nice day/night <3


End file.
